


The city's your playground, I watch you take a bite

by heavenisalibrary



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fills [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:17:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenisalibrary/pseuds/heavenisalibrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s really very not even a little bit easy to essentially chaperone one’s extremely young, vibrant, excessively flirtatious, and (in his opinion) way over-friendly wife around time and space. In fact, the Doctor thinks he might be going a little bit mad doing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The city's your playground, I watch you take a bite

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Doctor/River, drunk!fic.

River’s young — young enough that he had to promise the Roman that he’d look after her — and whenever he has the singular pleasure of taking such a young version of his wife out, he’s very careful not to press her boundaries. She’s still a bit like a livewire, sparking with energy and untapped potential; he’s careful when and how he touches her, careful about revealing too much affection so as not to scare her, and he tries to be the best friend she could ask for. Still, she’s his wife. And it’s really very not even a little bit easy to essentially chaperone one’s extremely young, vibrant, excessively flirtatious, and (in his opinion) way over-friendly wife around time and space.

In fact, the Doctor thinks he might be going a little bit mad doing it.

He’d taken her to a party in prohibition-era America. Nothing deserving of The Great Gatsby, but a fairly impressive party with fairly impressive people and a fairly impressive store of illegal alcohol. Later in her timeline, River isn’t much of a drinker — it takes rather a lot to get to her, and it’s not like she needs the social crutch or something to loosen her tongue, or perhaps it’s just in deference of his dislike for the stuff, but either way, when he’d lost sight of her, he hadn’t remotely considered that she was off getting absolutely wasted as a possibility.

When he found her — an hour after she vanished, twenty minutes since he started looking — she’s amassed a crowd of admirers, speaking too-loudly about something. She sounds quite articulate to an untrained ear, but no one knows River like he does, so he catches the way she switches topics quickly, like she can’t keep track, and the slight slur to her words even though she’s careful to annunciate most of the time gives her away. She leans against the wall behind her, and when she spots him, her whole face lights up.

"Doctor!" she says, pushing through the crowd of people, drink in hand, to drape an arm over his shoulder, "where’ve you been, hm? Stirring up trouble, no doubt."

"I’m on my best behavior tonight," he says as she stumbles into him. He catches her about the waist, her body pressing every-so-slightly against his, and she sways closer to him.

"Why’s that?" she asks. She purses her lips slightly, looking up at him, and she’s altogether too close. Her lips are red with the wine she’s been drinking, shining a bit with moisture, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are bright, and her ever-distracting curves press against him, and he rolls his eyes to the ceiling to avoid doing something Rory would have his head for later.

"Roman’s orders," he says quite honestly. "I was only allowed to take you out on the condition that nothing bad, scary, life-threatening, traumatic, or in any way untoward happens to you." He ticks of the things on his fingers, scowling a little bit as he finishes.

"That sounds bloody boring," she says. "And sweetie?"

"River?" he says, and if his hand slides around from her waist to rest at the small of her back and press her slightly to him, well, no one’s around to tell the Roman anyway.

"Things don’t happen to me,” she says. “I happen to them.”

A shiver travels the Doctor’s spine at the glint in her eyes — that’s his wife, right there, that’s River Song, and he’s loved her since before he had the slightest clue who or what she was. It’s not that he’s actually scared of Rory, or that he’s particularly keen to follow directions, it’s just that he largely agrees with River’s father; one day, River and the Doctor will be amazing. But right now, she’s still figuring things out. Right now, he knows she’s going to slip and stumble along the road to recovery because he’s already seen it happen. And he doesn’t want to complicate her rehabilitation by moving too quickly.

Still, it’s not easy when she looks like she does and seems to delight in wearing dresses that are far too short every time he takes her out. She’s a physical person at all times, but this drunk and this young — even as he tries to disentangle himself and steps backward, trying to lead her out to the balcony for some air, he finds himself with an armful of River as she tucks herself against his side, chattering away in a fashion he finds both amusing and heart-stoppingly endearing.

"Rory’s always been protective, even when I was Mels, he’s just got an excuse now so he’s a bit carried away,” River says, letting the Doctor guide her out the doors and onto the balcony. “I love him for it. Always did, even when it got in my way. He used to lecture me — oh, Mum would yell and fight with me, but Dad would just prattle on for ages about being a good person and all these things he probably thought sounded very wise, but mostly he just jumbled a bunch of platitudes together. Idiot.”

"Ah," the Doctor says, "but he’s your idiot.”

"He is," River agrees. "My very own idiot Dad. Dad — it still feels weird to say, even though I always knew. I never let myself say it when I was Mels. I never thought we’d have a relationship, after."

"After what?"

"After I killed you. I knew Amy wouldn’t speak to me ever again, and I knew Rory would side with Amy — they knew I was bad, too, but I think they’d have been shocked if I killed somebody. Plus, I didn’t really imagine I’d have an after.”

“What,” the Doctor says, “like I’d kill you?”

"Oh, please, honey," River says with a roll of her eyes, "I could kill you with a maraschino cherry stem and a tube of chapstick, don’t think for one minute you ever scared me. No, I just — I had a purpose, you know."

"I know."

"It was hard to think past it," River says. "That’s all I was, for a long time. All that lived in my head. I was a weapon. I was going to detonate, and that was all there was to it."

"I’m sorry," the Doctor says, squeezing her where his arm rests against her waist and pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. "So sorry."

She shrugs. “It’s alright. I shouldn’t be babbling like this.”

"I love it when you babble."

"Do I babble often? In my future? I’d hate that."

"No, never," he says with a smile. "Well, unless you’re drunk."

"M’not drunk!"

"Of course not, dear," he says, and she fixes him with a withering stare. She gives him a bit of a shove, but she is drunk, even if she denies it, and she spills a bit of wine onto the ground and her hand in the process.

"Damn," she says, lifting her hand to her mouth to suck the wine from her finger. He’s completely devoted to watching her do so, and doesn’t even notice when she notices, and quirks a brow. “See something y’like?”

"Enormously," he says. She takes a sip of the wine, and her eyes lock with his. Mentally, he lists all of the reasons he owes Rory, all of the reasons to keep his hands to himself, and shoves his hands into his pockets. These thoughts, however, are quickly overtaken by her when she refuses to look away, her gaze fixed to his as she offers him her glass.

He takes it from her, his fingers buzzing where they brush against hers, and sips slowly — doesn’t even gag at the taste — staring at her all the while. It feels very intimate, very erotic, and as she sways toward him he licks his lips, knowing hers would taste the same.

"Doctor," she breathes, resting her palms against his chest. "I’ve been thinking about Berlin."

"Have you?" he says, not really processing any of his own words. He gulps as she runs one hand upward to fiddle with the bow tie, her finger brushing against his throat.

"Yes," she says.

"What part?" he asks.

She leans forward and stands on her tip-toes, pressing her lips at the very base of his throat, and he makes a strangled noise as she trails a series of open-mouthed kisses up his neck, pausing when she reaches his jawline. “About that kiss.”

"Which one?" he says.

"Both," she says. "I think we can do better."

"I know we can,” he says.

"Flirt," she accuses.

"Takes one to know one," he says.

She smiles, humming against his skin and sliding her hands up and over his shoulders, clasping her hands behind his head. Her body sways gently against his, and without his permission he finds his hands on her hips, holding her to him. She kisses the side of his neck, but this time she lingers — her mouth is wide and warm, her teeth grazing as she sucks at the skin in a way he knows will leave a mark.

"River, I can’t…"

She hushes him with a kiss to his lips, and he melts into her instantly. His hands travel up her spine and down again, and he wants to keep things soft, keep things tender, keep things safe for the watershed so he can look Rory in the eyes the next time he sees him, but that desire is totally at war with the knowledge that it’s going to happen anyway so it might as well be now — but River has no such reservations. She kisses him with abandon, with more teeth than she will later in her timeline, her body writhing against his and before he’s even thought to do it he’s pulling her roughly against him, his hands sliding down to grab her ass and haul her as close as he can, until not even their breath can fit between them. When she pulls away for air, he gives it another go.

"You’re drunk," he says, "this isn’t —"

"Yes, Doctor," she says, "I’m drunk — I’ve had very much wine and it’s made me feel very confident and very horny and very fond of your stupid face so you have one of two options, sweetie. Would you like to hear them?"

"Yes…"

"We can carry on like we have been and have a rather lovely evening,” she says, “or you can continue to pretend to be a gentleman and express your concern for my inebriation which will inevitably lead to me being angry and horny and drunk. Which, I’m sure you know, is a combination you do not want to encounter.”

"Not at all."

"So what do you say?"

"Don’t tell the Roman," he says, pulling her closer and leaning in for a kiss.


End file.
